Alexis Cupcake Crush

by Coco Simon

  The hygienist’s cupcakes were easy—plain yellow cake with pale yellow frosting (the baby shower had a rubber ducky theme; the client had purchased tiny rubber duckies in bulk and would be topping the cupcakes with them herself).

  Finally, we set to work on Martine’s cupcakes. There were a lot of them, and we had to get the two kinds of base frosting on and do the sequin cupcakes first, while the frosting set a while for the ones getting the fondant toppers (they’d need something kind of firm to sink into, so they didn’t just slide off).

  The only problem was the sequins weren’t sticking.

  “I think we’ll need these to sit awhile too,” said Mia.

  “Let’s load up the carriers while we’re waiting,” suggested Emma.

  “Great idea,” I agreed.

  “Actually, I’ll put them right into the car,” added Emma.

  We set to work, neatening up any dribbled frosting, snapping the tops back onto their carriers, and then putting them by the back door, where Emma was ferrying them out to the minivan.

  “How are we doing on time?” asked Katie.

  I looked at my watch. “Yikes. The pink cupcakes need to be at the Murrays’ house in ten minutes! And Sawyer’s cupcakes in half an hour. The hygienist’s can be anytime, but Martine’s need to be at her house in an hour. We’re going to have to do two trips. Dad!” I called.

  “In here!” He was working at his desk in the den. I scurried in and asked urgently if he would be able to drive us over to the three drop-offs right this very minute. My mom was away at a conference for the weekend, and Dylan was babysitting at the O’Haras’ for the whole day.

  My dad was kind of bummed to leave his work, but he agreed, luckily, and went to find his shoes.

  Back in the kitchen, things were still humming along.

  Katie was testing to see if the frosting was ready to hold the fondant instruments yet, but they kept sliding off. “Aargh! This is so frustrating. Maybe we didn’t make the frosting thick enough?” she wondered aloud.

  “Here, let me see,” said Mia.

  “Guys, I’ll leave you two on that while Emma and I deliver these cupcakes, and then we’ll circle back to get them, okay?” I asked.

  “Good idea,” agreed Mia.

  My dad had the minivan running when Emma and I ran out and hopped in.

  “Wait! The flyers!” I cried, and I dashed back in to get them. No point in Matt doing all that work and us paying for them if no one would ever see them. I returned to the car, panting, and now beginning to panic about the time.

  “Okay, let’s hit the road!” I said urgently.

  “How about a ‘please’?” grumbled my dad, reversing the car. “What am I, Jeeves the Chauffeur?”

  “Sorry, Dad. Please?”

  He harrumphed, and Emma and I exchanged nervous and guilty smiles. My dad is always such a good sport, so if I was annoying him, it wasn’t a good thing.

  “Okay, so now where to?” he asked, fiddling with his seat belt. I told him the Murrays’ address, and we set out.

  As we rode along I had a thought. “Em, we don’t want to look like we’re in a rush when we get there, you know?”

  Emma nodded. “Right. We need to be cool as cucumbers.”

  “We never want a client to think we’re too busy or not giving them our full attention.”

  “Got it!” agreed Emma, and we fist-bumped professionally.

  I glanced at my dad in the rearview mirror and saw that he was smiling. Phew.

  We reached the Murrays’ house in good time, and Emma and I quickly unloaded the car but brought the pink cupcakes into the kitchen at a stately pace. Libby, the birthday girl, was dressed in a pink tutu, and Emma and I exchanged a knowing look of pleasure. These cupcakes would be a hit. Besides being delicious, the pink tutu effect of the frosting would be ideal for this ballerina birthday girl!

  We made a little small talk with Mrs. Murray, and then she paid us, and we made arrangements to pick up the carriers later in the week if she would just leave them on her back step. With a happy wave, as if we had all the time in the world, Emma and I stepped graciously out the back door and . . . flat-out sprinted to the van!

  “Okay, Jeeves!” I teased my dad. “Now we’re going to One Hundred Lily Pond Lane!” I resisted the urge to add, “And step on it!”

  My dad gave a little salute, and we were off.

  I couldn’t stop looking at my watch; we were starting to cut it a little close.

  “Should we call the others and see how it’s going?” I asked Emma.

  She nodded and called Mia on her phone.

  I listened to Emma’s side of the conversation in relief. Things were sticking, the cupcakes looked good, and it was going to be fine. Yay! We had this!

  We reached the Reeses’ house, and this time we put just a teeny bit more spring in our step and were out the door in five minutes instead of ten. Once again, we hit the road, and now Emma and I were on a roll. The next drop-off at the hygienist’s went superfast, and back in the car, we were feeling maybe a little too confident.

  “We should really drum up more business,” I was saying.

  “Totally! We can easily do multiple orders a day on the weekends. I think we’ve just gotten really efficient!” agreed Emma.

  But suddenly, there started to be this really bad burning smell. I wrinkled my nose and looked out the window for the source of the odor. Was someone burning tires in their yard? Was there a new factory in town? Then I looked out the rear window.

  “Dad! There’s smoke billowing out the back of the car!” I yelled.

  “What?” he replied in a panic, looking back and then pulling over. “Oh no! It’s the fuel injector. Your mom was supposed to take it to get fixed last week. . . . Oh, brother!”

  Emma and I stared at each other, totally shocked. I didn’t dare say anything as my dad jumped out of the car, fuming, and lifted the hood of the van to see inside. (Not like that would help because he knows zero about cars, anyway.)

  “What are we going to do if we can’t drive this car?” I asked Emma in a panicked whisper.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get us a ride. My parents are at a wedding shower out of town, but maybe I can get Sam, and he can at least go get Martine’s cupcakes.” She punched the numbers on her phone and made wide eyes at me as it rang and no one picked up. Finally, she hung up. “He’s not answering. Let me try our home number, though it’s unlikely anyone will ever answer that.”

  Meanwhile, my dad was calling AAA on his phone to see what he should do. I wrung my hands together and was thrilled when someone picked up Emma’s call.

  “Matt?” she said, making wide eyes at me again. She proceeded to explain our situation and ask where Sam was.

  “Oh no!” she said. I made a horrified face and she mouthed, Sam’s at work—picked up a shift today.

  But then Matt was saying something, and Emma looked right into my eyes as she listened. “I don’t know. . . . That’s awfully nice. I know, it’s not really out of the way. I . . . Let me check with Alexis. Hang on.”

  She muted her phone and stared at me for a minute. “No one else in my family is able to drive, but Samantha Perry’s dad is on his way to get her. He can pass by your house, get the cupcakes, and bring them to Martine’s on his way to my house, and we can meet him there. What do you want me to say? We could try Mia’s parents or Katie’s mom, but it’s a gamble, and we might lose this ride.”

  I felt stricken. “Seriously?” I sat for a second with my forehead in my hands. Then I stuck my head out the window. “Dad? Sorry to bug you, but should we find another ride for the rest of the cupcakes?”

  “Yes!” he barked.

  I ducked my head back into the car.

  “Business first, Lex?” Emma said gently.

  “Oh, whatever. Fine,” I grumbled. “And thanks.”

  And then I put my hands over my ears as Emma made the rest of the arrangements.

  CHAPTER 8

  Saved!

/>   Emma and I decided to walk to the Donays’ house, figuring we stood a chance of getting there around when Mr. Perry arrived with the cupcakes. I felt awful leaving my dad on the side of the road, but he was in such a foul mood, it was probably better we weren’t there to witness it.

  Emma called Katie and Mia, and luckily, they were almost finished setting the decorations on top of the cakes. They were going to start packing everything up and getting ready for the pickup right away. Emma said they should ask Mr. Perry if they could please ride along in his car with him, so at least they’d be there, just in case we couldn’t walk there fast enough.

  That finished, and after promising my dad we’d call him once we’d gotten to the Donays’ house, we set out on what would be a twenty-five-minute walk.

  I was so stressed, I could hardly speak.

  It was bad enough my family’s car had broken down and let us all down, and I had ditched my dad after all he’d done for us this weekend already, and we’d bitten off more than we could chew, work-wise, but to have to accept the help of someone who is basically my rival, well . . . it was all just too much. I sighed as we marched up the busy four-lane road, cars whizzing by us. It wasn’t exactly a highway, but it wasn’t a place many pedestrians ventured, either.

  Emma tried to cheer me up at first by talking business, of course, but I was too distraught to chat. Luckily, she had remembered to grab the flyers, at least, before we left the minivan, so that hadn’t been a total loss.

  “Hey, these things came out great, don’t you think?” she said cheerily.

  “I wish I’d worn better shoes,” I muttered, refusing to be cheered.

  “Oh, I know.” Emma sighed. “I wish I had on my sneakers. Or my fluffy slippers,” she joked. We were silent for another block.

  “Samantha’s actually really nice,” said Emma after a bit. “And—”

  I raised my hand, palm out, for her to stop. “Please.” I shook my head and looked at the ground.

  Emma sighed heavily, and we walked another block. Then she burst out, “All I was going to say is, I don’t think he likes her like that. That’s all!”

  “Hmph!” I said with a humorless laugh.

  “I’m serious, Lex. I watched them together this morning, and while I do think she might have the teeniest crush on him, I really don’t think he likes her back.”

  “Why?” I asked. I didn’t mind us talking that much if this was to be the topic.

  Encouraged, Emma turned to me as we walked. “See, she’s really chatty and upbeat and giggly with him, and he is just his plain self. Now, that could just be how boys are, but I have to say, I’ve seen how Matt is with you, and honestly, Lex, he can’t stop grinning when you’re around.”

  A tiny smile lifted the corners of my lips—just the teensiest bit. “Really? Go on.”

  “I swear. I don’t think he’s into her.”

  “No, I mean, how is he with me?”

  Emma tilted her head and gave it her full consideration. “Well, he’s himself but good. Better. Like, his best self. And he’s nice and friendly and never grumpy or snarky, and he’s willing to do stuff for us, like the flyers and whatever. . . .”

  “We pay him!” I said, scowling now.

  Emma stopped and threw her hands into the air as she looked at me. “Alexis Becker, please! Do you honestly think he cares about the money? He does it so he can hang out with you. I’m sure of it!”

  “Hmm, well, maybe I’m just his starter person. He’s practicing on me to get ready for a real girlfriend.”

  “Oh, Alexis, you are impossible.”

  Now I’d succeeded in putting Emma in a bad mood. I was kind of relieved she was now cranky too, because I was sick of her attempts to cheer me up, but after we walked another block, I felt bad. There was no need for me to burst her bubble just because I was so miserable.

  So I said, “I’m sorry, Emma. It’s just—”

  “It’s fine, Alexis. Whatever. I shouldn’t get involved, anyway. It really has nothing to do with me, and it’s probably better if we keep it that way.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said lamely.

  She shrugged and then squinted at her phone. “Only three more blocks if we cut through the playground.”

  I agreed, and we veered off and onto the grass of the park surrounding the playground. The park was busy because it was a nice weekend, so I don’t know how I spotted her, but suddenly I saw someone who looked familiar, sitting on a bench.

  “Hey.” I nudged Emma. “Isn’t that Martine Donay over there, all by herself?”

  Emma looked. “I think you’re right. She looks miserable! What do you think she’s doing over there?”

  We stared at each other for a split second, unsure. Emma checked the time on her watch. “Her party’s soon. She should be getting ready right now.”

  “Should we go over there?”

  Emma shrugged nervously. “We might be late if we do.”

  “Well, without her there’s no party! Come on. Let’s go!”

  We walked over to where Martine sat on a bench, her knees pulled up in front of her, her arms wrapped around them.

  “Martine?” I called tentatively.

  She looked up, and her eyes were tear streaked, and her heavy mascara was running.

  “Hey! What’s the matter?” I said, rushing now to her side. I sat next to her on the bench. She looked as if she had dressed for the party already, because although she was wearing her normal outfit of ripped black jeans and three layers of T-shirts all cut up and held together with leather cords and safety pins, her hair was . . . punkier than usual—black and completely vertical. She had on tons of jangly chains and earrings.

  She looked shocked to see us, and sniffed away her tears and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of a black bandanna, trying to look natural, like she hadn’t been crying. “Oh, hey,” she said quietly.

  “What’s wrong, Martine?” Emma asked kindly. “Isn’t it almost time for your party?”

  Martine gave a dark laugh. “My party? My party? Ha! As if!”

  Emma and I exchanged a glance. “Um, whose party is it?” I asked.

  Martine gave an angry sigh. “My mother’s! That’s who! I never wanted anything to do with a sweet sixteen, and she bullied me into it, and now it’s a mess, and I am not going!”

  “Why is it a mess?” I asked.

  “Ack!” Martine waved her hand in frustration. “Just . . . everything.”

  Emma and I looked at each other again. Now Emma asked, “Like what?”

  Martine said, “For starters, she tried to insist that I wear a skirt! A skirt! Me! Can you imagine?”

  We shook our heads simultaneously.

  “Then she insisted on all these party foods from her favorite takeout place, like finger sandwiches! And deviled eggs! It’s like we’re at a ladies’ tea or something!”

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s, um . . .” I happen to love tea sandwiches and deviled eggs, so I was the wrong person to handle this. I looked beseechingly at Emma.

  Emma got the hint. “Well . . . maybe people will think it’s ironic or something. Like a joke?”

  “She’s the joke!” Martine snorted.

  I had to step in. “I have to say, there are certain foods everyone loves, and tea sandwiches and deviled eggs are two of them. . . .”

  “And pigs in a blanket?” guessed Emma. “Is she serving those?”

  Martine rolled her eyes and nodded sadly.

  “Oh, well, people just go nuts for those. Trust me!” said Emma. “Even cool people!”

  I added, “And people will be hungry, with all that dancing and thrashing around and whatnot. I think you’ll be surprised to see how fast the food goes. I mean, you’re having boys, right?”

  Martine nodded again.

  Emma looked at Martine knowingly. “That food will fly.”

  “Anyway, what did you want to serve? I mean, is there such a thing as punk food?” I asked.

  Martine sighed. “Not really, I gues
s. I just hate for her to get everything her way.”

  “Well, at least the cupcakes are your way!” I said brightly.

  Martine frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah. I just wish we could have done the tattoo ones.”

  “I know, but it might have been a little weird, everyone eating your name, you know?” I giggled, and then so did Martine.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  I glanced at Emma. We’d gotten a foothold!

  “And speaking of cupcakes . . . ,” said Emma.

  “Oh yes, people love cupcakes! Trust us!” I said, smiling encouragingly.

  “No, I mean . . .” Emma wiggled her phone meaningfully at me.

  “Oh, right! Yeah. We’ve got to go meet the cupcakes at your house. They’re getting dropped off, like, now-ish. . . .”

  “Come with us. Let’s all walk over together,” suggested Emma.

  Martine sighed heavily. “Okay. I guess.”

  “Come on! You can’t miss your own sweet sixteen! Just imagine if people started skipping their own sweet sixteens because their moms were annoying them! There would never be a single birthday girl at her own party. Right?” Emma said.

  Martine smiled. “You’re right.”

  “The best thing to do is go and have a blast. Don’t even think about your mom. Also, finger sandwiches and deviled eggs aren’t a reflection on you. People will probably assume the caterer just brought them and whatever. They’ll go over really well. Trust me. I have three brothers,” Emma said, rolling her eyes.

  “Right,” said Martine. “Actually, I know your brother Matt. From school.”

  “Oh yeah. Right,” said Emma, nodding. “Good old Matt,” she joked, looking sideways at me.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Martine was thinking. “Wait, now something reminds me . . . Oh, yeah. One of my guests asked if she could bring him as a date to the party! That’s what!”

  A huge pit opened inside my stomach. “Oh really?” I said supercasually, but inside I was already dying a slow death. “Um, who?”

  I braced myself for the answer, even though it was as inevitable as could be.